_Alon._ This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, Those skies, through which it rolls, must all have end. What then is man? the smallest part of nothing. Day buries day; month, month; and year, the year. Our life is but a chain of many deaths; Can then death's self be fear'd? our life much rather. Life is the desert, life the solitude. Death joins us to the great majority: 'Tis to be borne to Platos and to Caesars; 'Tis to be great for ever; 'Tis pleasure, 'tis ambition, then to die. _Zan._ I think, my lord, you talk'd of death. _Alon._ I did. _Zan._ I give you joy, then Leonora's dead. _Alon._ No, Zanga; to shed a woman's blood Would stain my sword, and make my wars inglorious; He who, superior to the checks of nature, Dares make his life the victim of his reason, Does in some sort that reason deify, And take a flight at heaven. _Zan._ Alas, my lord, 'Tis not your reason, but her beauty, finds Those arguments, and throws you on your sword. You cannot close an eye that is so bright, You cannot strike a breast that is so soft, That has ten thousand ecstasies in store-- For Carlos?--No, my lord, I mean for you. _Alon._ Oh, through my heart and marrow! pr'ythee, spare me, Nor more upbraid the weakness of thy lord: I own, I try'd, I quarrell'd with my heart, And push'd it on, and bid it give her death; But, oh, her eyes struck first and murder'd me. _Zan._ I know not what to answer to my lord. Men are but men; we did not make ourselves. Farewell then, my best lord, since you must die. Oh, that I were to share your monument, And in eternal darkness close these eyes Against those scenes which I am doom'd to suffer! _Alon._ What dost thou mean? _Zan._ And is it then unknown? Oh, grief of heart, to think that you should ask it! Sure you distrust that ardent love I bear you, Else could you doubt when you are laid in dust-- But it will cut my poor heart through and through, To see those revel on your sacred tomb, Who brought you thither by their lawless loves. For there they'll revel, and exult to find Him sleep so fast, who else might mar their joys. _Alon._ Distraction! But don Carlos well thou know'st Is sheath'd in steel, and bent on other thoughts. _Zan._ I'll work him to the murder of his friend. [_aside._ Yes, till the fever of his blood returns, While her last kiss still glows upon his cheek. But when he finds Alonzo is no more, How will he rush, like lightning, to her arms! There sigh, there languish, there pour out his soul; But not in grief--sad obsequies to thee!-- But thou wilt be at peace, nor see, nor hear, The burning kiss, the sigh of ecstasy, Their throbbing hearts that jostle one another: Thank heaven, these torments will be all my own. _Alon._ I'll ease thee of that pain. Let Carlos die; O'ertake him on the road, and see it done. 'Tis my command. [_gives his signet._ _Zan._ I dare not disobey. _Alon._ My Zanga, now I have thy leave to die.